Ancestry……how important are you?

I remember…….Charlie Cuozzo’s Italian grocer in Washington [D.C.]. Once a week, without fail, my Nonie and Poppa [immigrant grandparents] would drive slowly, and carefully, into downtown southwest Washington.

Boisterous greetings and waves meet everyone who came and went in the store. Family, old friends, neighbors, kids, gathered; and yes, even long suffering rivalries were forgotten within Cuozzo’s store. Old men sat around and swapped tales or went out back in the tiny yard and played bocce’ ball. The women shopped, tasted, gossiped, critiqued, complained and prayed.

But it’s the smell[s] I recall most vividly. The moment we stepped inside the tiny store my senses were ignited. Even now, as I pen these words and close my eyes, my subconscious [albeit voluntarily] flashes back. The sharp zest of imported cheeses and meats; the rich scent of chianti, freely passed around; fresh bread warm from the oven dripping a huge dollop of sweet butter; yeast dough for pasta rising on a sideboard; traditional italian biscotti baked with anise oil; hot, strong caffe’ laced with anisette; garlic and olive oil simmering on the stove, as mamma Cuozzo prepared sauce and pasta for her family from the small apartment in back of the store.

My Italian ancestry [paternal] was very influential in my life. Culture and tradition were everything. Most distinctly, my religious upbringing guided every nuance of my womanhood. Catholic schools, churches, friends, education, morals left me with few independent choices. Even mother’s idea that I would make a good nun! I felt doomed!

However, deliverance came through a most unexpected channel. And also, it was the dawning of a realization that dichotomy is the rule, not the exception. My very religious, matriarchal, Italian Nonie took me under her wing and preached self-sufficiency, strength and lots of education to me. As she encouraged me to pray to the BVM [blessed virgin mary], angels and saints, she also extolled the qualities of the “evil eye”, using curses sparingly, calling on spiritello’s when necessary, and keeping angelic visions secret. I knew I had found an ally.

Unknowingly, Nonie shaped a fertile imagination into a cauldron of creative, fantastical possibilities. Being a most curious child, I was intent on reading every publication that came into our home, visiting the local library daily, and locking myself under the stairs or in the bathroom to read. One of the downsides of being too well read is that one questions absolutely everything.

It became very clear to me [early on] that “truth” was not necessarily honest or factual; specifically where religion was concerned. When I began to question where religious ritual[s] and rationale came from, I was punished. In school, I was locked in the closet by the nuns for questioning the church? At home I was further disciplined and sent to my room without dinner? What’s all the fuss about? I just wondered where holy mass was derived from? How do we know that jesus is the son of god? Where did all these rituals stem from? Why water and wine? How come we can’t go to the protestant church or temple? What’s the big deal? God is everywhere? or so I had been taught.

By the time I hit college, I was fascinated by philosophy and subjects like: Religion and Spirituality Through the Ages, Comparative Religion[s], Ethos of Spirit in Indigenous Cultures et al. So, is god really a religion? I had long since eschewed contemporary religion, and began my search for the meaning of life. As I immersed myself in exploration of world cultures and spiritual practices it led me a wide and circuitous path.

Though my Italian heritage uncovered a tumultuous, religious past rife with uncertainty, corruption and unfaithfulness; I chose to focus on my familial circle and the strength, and clarity my Nonie had gifted me as she encouraged and supported my journey. Nonie left me her marble rosary beads which hang over my computer.

A sudden twist of fate brought me full circle as I was called into the mystique of the British Isles. An affinity for celtic myth and lore fueled a spiritual resurgence. And here is where it got strange! My mother’s Irish, but we had never had contact with our Irish family. They were considered “common.” I married and had children before I connected with an Irish mystic who was my cousin. I’m Irish and it really made me feel rooted. I traveled to Ireland–alone. Spent ten unbelievable days wandering the Emerald Isle. Meditating in standing stones; visioning in ancient churches; singing in an irish castle; meeting an irish monk who changed my perspective; and never wanting to leave. It felt like home. Energy and mysticism radiated from the land. I felt closer to god than anywhere else on earth.

One day while sitting at the side of the Cliffs of Moher, I had a dream-vision of soaring out over the cliffs above the sea. Waves crashing, birds screeching, music flowing from the stones. I wanted to stay there forever. When I drifted back into my body at the top of the cliff, I was soaking wet.

Lolly Odea is a writer/editor, and a massage therapist; both for over 20 years. She’s spent the last number of years creating and presenting seminars and “playshops” for Stress Management, Energetic Body Healing, Breathwork, Spirit and Creativity, Croning, StoryTelling, Women’s Sacred Ritual Circles,  and Labyrinth Design and Building.